


Spring Break

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Lingerie, Multiple Pov, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Second Person, Steve Rogers Swears, Swearing, Winters in NY suck and that's a fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: A collision in JFK International Airport leaves Bucky Barnes with the wrong phone. You can still take photos of your vacation on his, but the nuclear codes are a slightly bigger problem.





	Spring Break

**Author's Note:**

> Happy spring break (for me at least)! Hope March is treating you well, and I hope you enjoy!

He raced through the terminal, heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears. The device in his hand felt heavy, heavier than its half-dozen ounces. It wasn’t the black and charcoal case weighing it down, but the knowledge that it held more deadly information than even Bucky Barnes was comfortable holding.

Bucky scooted around a large tour group, taking the opportunity to shed his garish jacket and toss it under a nearby row of chairs. He glanced down at the phone in his hand and swore under his breath; the battery was flashing, its life all but drained away.

Then it died.

Bucky cursed for real this time, his eyes glued to the now-black screen. How long would it take to boot back up? He chanced a look over his shoulder as he ran on, but his pursuers were nowhere in sight. At least he had—

_Slam._

Bucky grunted as he pitched forward, his legs tangling with someone else’s as the phone in his hand went flying. He caught himself on his right arm—the left would have made a _very_ noticeable noise—and rolled away from the woman gasping under him, snatching up his phone.

“Sorry,” he blurted. He barely registered her wince, too busy scanning the terminal.

“Fucking hell,” she gasped. She clambered to her knees with the help of her friend and grabbed her own phone, its case also muted dark colors. “Watch where you’re going, will you?”

Bucky’s ears caught the telltale sound of his pursuers—still too far to be seen, but still far too close for comfort. His eyes flitted briefly over the woman’s face. She was more angry than hurt, at least.

“Sorry,” he said again, and then he ran on.

By the time he made it through security—thank god for his fresh SHIELD badge—Natasha was waiting in her corvette. He dove into the passenger seat. A charge cord was already plugged in, waiting.

“Go, go,” he urged.

“Nice to see you too,” Natasha said drily, but she pulled away from the curb, weaving expertly between cars as Bucky fumbled with the charge cord. He waited with bated breath for the lock screen to come up.

When it did, Bucky gaped. Instead of the plan black background he’d expected, there was a background image. A painting? Was that Monet?

A text message notification slid onto the screen.

> **Disha** : Have fun girl!!! Take lots of pictures of the beach for me while I wither away in the library 😂 😂 😂

Bucky’s eyes bugged out.

“What the _fuck_?”

 

—

 

“I can’t believe we made it,” Mira said. She sagged in her seat, kicking off her flats. “First the train gets delayed, then you have to run into a fucking maniac—”

“Hey,” you said, “ _he_ ran into _me_.” You brandished your arm; you could already feel a bruise forming on your elbow.

“It’s not like you were watching your step.” Mira snorted and leaned forward to peer out the window. “How long before we take off, d’you think?”

“As long as it’s soon, I don’t really care.” You lean back and spread your hands, painting a picture in your mind. “All I want is to be lying under an umbrella with the waves lapping at my feet in less than twenty-four hours. Is that too much to ask?”

“After four months of a New York winter? Hell no.”

You giggled along with Mira. The plane finally drove onto the runway, and in minutes, you were in the skies.

 

—

 

“I’m sorry, you _what?_ ”

Bucky kicked the doorpost, scowling. “My phone got swapped with some—some _girl’s_.”

“How the hell did that happen, Buck?”

“They were on my tail,” Bucky snapped. “Airports are busy when they haven’t been evacuated, Steve!”

Steve groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, yeah… Well, now what? Where is it? That phone’s got so many hot secrets on it that someone’s bound to realize we’ve lost it sooner than later.”

“That’s the problem.” Bucky screwed up his face, dreading the inevitable reaction. “I did too good a job encrypting my phone. I’ve got no idea where it is.”

Steve’s eyes popped. He grabbed his hair until it all stood on end. “Bucky! What the fuck! There are _nuclear codes_ on your phone right now!”

“Think I forgot, punk?” Bucky scoffed and flung himself into the nearest chair. “Trust me, if I look calm it’s only so I don’t bust any more holes in Stark’s fancy-ass walls.” He clenched his hands together, the knuckles on his right hand white with tension. “I need the footage from the airport. If we can figure out where she’s goin’—”

“Right.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back down. “I’ll get on it. In the meantime, figure out who this girl is. If the wrong people figure out what she’s packing, she’s gonna be in some deep trouble.”

 

—

 

“Hey, can I borrow your charger? Mine’s in the overhead bin.”

“Sure.” Mira unplugged her phone. You plugged yours in and drummed your hands on the armrest between you as you looked out over the Atlantic. Cirrus clouds floated below you, casting wispy shadows along the rippling water miles below. Germs, noisy children, and airports aside, you did love flying.

“Did you change your phone background?” Mira asked.

“Huh?” You glanced at your phone, then snatched it up with a frown. The photo you’d taken of Monet’s Water Lilies was nowhere to be seen. Just a boring black background. “No…” You pressed your thumb to the home button, but it vibrated in your hand and stayed locked. “Weird.” You tried again, rotating your thumb a millimeter this way and that until you were prompted to enter your passcode.

But that didn’t work either.

“What the hell?”

“Wait,” Mira said. She shook her finger in midair, lips parted. “That guy you ran into! He dropped his phone too! Maybe you swapped!”

“Oh nooo,” you groaned. “Fuck! What am I going to do?”

Mira snorted. “You can live without your phone for a week, silly.”

“No I can’t! I was going to take photos! I can’t grab your phone every time I want to take a picture.” Even as you spoke, you thought of something. You swiped up on the strange phone and grinned triumphantly. “Ha! I can still take photos. Whoever’s phone this is is just gonna have to deal.”

You looked out the window again. It was a perfect view—some more clouds now, and the sun hitting the waves… You angled the phone and snapped a photo.

“Do you think they have iCloud?” Mira said.

“Who knows. All _I_ know is that I’m going to stop caring about this little misstep and start enjoying myself.” You stuffed the stranger’s phone under your leg, linked your hands behind your head, and grinned.

 

—

 

Bucky took a swig of coffee. Breaking into the stranger’s phone had been insanely easy. He wasn’t used to working with civvie tech. After putting in so much effort to cracking through actual security, this felt absurd. Did she have any idea how easy it was?

Were _all_ civilian phones this easy to get into?

Dear lord.

He pushed the thought aside and focused back on the array of screens. He’d hooked the phone up to the computers in his room, and now it was as simple as scrolling through emails and contact lists, text message histories, photos—

Bucky choked on his coffee. It sloshed in his mug, some spilling over his fingers. He swore, but his eyes were glued to the screen.

The third-to-last picture was um. It was.

_Lingerie._

The picture wasn’t even blown up; it was just there, the same size as two dozen others, almost innocent in its placement between a photo of a salad and another of some latte art. Apparently this girl—woman, dear god, she was a fucking woman alright—liked taking photos of food.

And of herself, in a mirror, barely clothed.

The fleeting glimpse he’d gotten of her in the airport had done her zero justice. A scowl was never the best introduction, but… _Damn._ The difference that the soft lighting and soft smile and soft skin made was fucking huge.

Bucky swallowed and closed the window. He did _not_ need to be seeing that. Distracting, that’s what it was. Unsettling. He shifted in his seat, tugging at his pants.

Data. Right.

He started with the emails. Easy enough. Most of them were forwarded from a university—was she a student? He checked some of the opened emails. There it was—grad student union. Suspicion confirmed. He found her flight receipt in short order. Grand Cayman? He leaned back in his chair to check the calendar on the other wall. Mid-March?

Had to be spring break.

A knock came at his door as he was scanning for any information on hotels or Airbnbs.

“What?” he called.

Natasha poked her head in. “Something popped up,” she said. She held out her tablet, eyes wandering over to his screens. “Your phone’s locked, but she’s still using it.”

“Huh?”

“Camera’s still accessible,” Natasha explained. “Looks like she’s en route to—” She peered over his shoulder and passed him the tablet. “Grand Cayman.”

Bucky stared. His iCloud photos were on display. The whole screen, save the newest photo, were photos of documents he’d temporarily filched from a facility in Irkutsk Oblast. Then, at the bottom right, there was the new photo. It wasn’t Russian documents, and it certainly wasn’t from Irkutsk Oblast. Just sun on the water, with soft clouds hanging in the sky.

It looked a lot nicer than New York at the moment, that was for sure.

“Well, I knew she was gettin’ on a plane.”

“What else have you found out?” Natasha asked.

“Grad student, from the area, on vacation with a friend. Nothing about a hotel so far.”

“Maybe the friend booked it.”

Bucky hummed. Made sense. He did some more digging. The woman didn’t have a banking app on her phone.

Finally, some common sense.

“What now?” Natasha asked. She snagged his discarded mug and finished off his coffee. “Ugh, I don’t know how you can handle so much sugar.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink other people’s coffee,” he said snidely. She stuck her tongue out at him, eyes twinkling. Bucky rolled his eyes. “What now? I’m gonna figure out how to get in touch with her without being entirely creepy about it. Don’t want her freakin’ out.”

“Good luck with that,” Natasha said with snort. She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, James, I’m sure it’ll be _juuust_ fine.”

 

—

 

“Mira, this is too swanky!”

You turned in place, mouth agape. Your hotel room looked right out onto the water, the bed plenty large for both of you and the sheer curtains blowing in the breeze. And there was a table with two chairs, a mini fridge, bathrobes even…

“My dad had a _lot_ of points on his travel rewards card,” Mira said. “And given that we’re graduating in May…” She shrugged a shoulder, smiling coyly. “We deserve a little treat.”

“Well, bless your dad!” You squeezed Mira in a tight hug, then ran to the window. The sun was low in the sky, almost skimming the horizon, light glittering off the gentle waves. “This is absolutely _heaven_.”

You opened up the camera on the stranger’s phone and snapped a photo of the water. You lowered the phone and bit your lip. Did the man who’d bumped into you have iCloud? Could he see the photos you were taking? So far, you’d only taken shots of the ocean. Was it safe to take a photo of yourself? It’s not like you needed one, but more than one person had asked to see pics.

Wait.

This guy had the same phone as you. That meant he had the same charger. That meant—

“Mira, can I use your phone?” you blurted.

“Uh, what for?” Mira looked up from her perch on the bed, where she was sorting through her suitcase. She’d already taken out her two bathing suits, but you ignored the cute frills in favor of sticking your hand in her face.

“I’m going to text my phone! Maybe that guy will have charged my phone by now, and then we can figure out how the hell I’m gonna get my phone back after we get home.”

“Ohhhh.” Mira proffered her phone. “Just don’t go giving him your passwords or anything,” she warned.

“Are you kidding? I’m not stupid.” You flopped down in the chair by the window, the breeze tickling your skin, and got to typing.

 

—

 

> **Mira** : Hi, this is the person you ran into at the airport. We switched phones after you knocked us over. We should figure out how to get our phones back. Can you send me an email at [email]?

 

—

 

“Oh thank god,” Bucky muttered. He reread the text, grateful beyond words that she’d beaten him to the punch. He’d been about to send this Mira a text of his own, but couldn’t figure out how to do so without exposing himself. Now, he had an out. He opened a new browser window and sent off an email from one of his many covers, hoping his desperation wasn’t too obvious.

 

—

 

“This James guy seems pretty desperate to get his phone back,” you said. You were lying next to Mira on the bed, the BBC muted on the tv on the other side of the room. Mira, bless her, was letting you use her phone to check your email.

“Who can blame him?” Mira laughed. “Look at you!”

“Hey, these things are expensive!” You couldn’t help but giggle in return, embarrassed though you were. “Besides, pretty much everyone’s a little addicted. So what’s on the docket for tomorrow? Breakfast downstairs, then beach?”

Mira started to respond, but her jaw dropped. “Look!” she gasped.

You stared at the tv. Mira scrambled for the remote, and with the push of a button a crisp English voice piped out of the speakers.

“—engers are apparently in the midst of a scandal of their own today, as can be seen from this chase in JFK International Airport in New York. Sergeant James Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, is seen here fleeing from members of a Russian terror organization known as—”

Mira muted the television.

“What the fuck,” you breathed. You stared down at James’ phone, then back at the tv. A severe headshot of the Winter Soldier stared back at you. You’d seen his face for a second, maybe two, but there was no denying it.

You had the Winter Soldier’s phone.

“What the fuck?!” you yelped.

“Omigod, be _quiet_ ,” Mira hissed, clapping a hand over your mouth. You made frantic noises into her uncomfortably strong grip until she dropped her hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” you said quietly. Your shoulders were up around your ears, your bra straps digging into your skin. “I—what? What the fuck? This was almost funny before, but this?” You gestured wordlessly to the black-cased phone at your feet. “This is unreal.”

Mira reached out and picked up the phone gingerly. “I wonder what’s on here,” she mused.

“Well _I_ don’t,” you said. “Dear god, how many state secrets are on that thing?!”

“Yes, well, of the two of us, _I’m_ the polisci major, so…”

Mira’s cheeky grin was enough to break the tension. You chuckled, shoulders dropping a little.

“I suppose this is what I get for running late this morning.” You collapsed back onto the bed and stared up at the smooth ceiling. “Mira, do you think we’ll be okay?”

Mira grabbed your hand and squeezed it fondly. “Of course we’ll be okay, babe.” She got up to turn off the lights and crawled back in beside you. “Now get some beauty sleep. We’ve got a beach day tomorrow!”

 

—

 

“Bad news, Barnes,” Tony announced. He tosses a dossier onto the briefing table. “Someone tipped off the news. BBC, CNN, Fox—they’re all over your little jaunt at JFK.”

Bucky groaned. He was tired enough—a midnight briefing was never fun, but this? Today? He’d had it. “Seriously?” He opened the folder and winced. There it was, a blurry screenshot of his little tumble to the ground. He glanced at Steve and Natasha; both of them were wincing, too. “Fuck.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Tony said. He gestured for Bucky to turn the page.

Same screenshot, but it was blown up even more. And there, easily visible, were the two phones on the floor.

“We intercepted that particular picture on the dark web an hour ago.” Tony sat on the edge of the table right next to Bucky, his foot tapping in the empty air. “There’s a race to see if you ended up with the wrong phone.”

Bucky’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance you snatched up the wrong phone,” Tony said. “So…” He shrugged. “They’re hedging their bets in favor of you being an absolute _idiot_.” Tony’s face had lost all traces of humor. “That civilian, not to mention her friend or the rest of Grand Cayman Island, is in serious danger right now. All it’s gonna take is one trigger-happy goon, and—”

“I get it!” Bucky snapped. His brain supplied him with plenty of fodder: her in her lingerie, her in a bikini, her in jeans and ankle boots like she had been at the airport, blood spreading around her in a puddle. “How fast can you get me to Grand Cayman?”

 

—

 

You woke with a lazy stretch as morning light filtered in through the curtains.

Mira was already in the shower, humming loud enough that you could hear her from bed. Her phone was charging on the far bedside table; you’d shut James’ phone off before you’d fallen asleep, not particularly interested in dealing with its existence while you were sleeping off the flight.

You padded over to the window and smiled at the view of the sun-kissed ocean. God, this place really was heaven.

A sharp buzzing from the bed disrupted the serene setting. You wandered over to Mira’s phone, curious.

Your heart leapt out of your chest. It was _you_ calling.

You glanced at the bathroom door, blood rushing in your ears, before you snatched up Mira’s phone and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mira?”

Your breath caught at the familiar voice on the other end. “No. Is this James?”

A pause.

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” James let out a low breath. “You, uh…”

“I saw the news,” you said quickly. Would he understand? You weren’t sure how much was safe to say.

“Oh. Um, good.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the charge cord. “Are you alright?” you asked.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” He sounded bewildered. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Well, my vacation just got a little more complicated, but yeah, I’m fine.” You couldn’t help but smile a little. For all that he was a fearless assassin, he was worried. It was… cute.

“I don’t think ‘a little’ quite covers it,” he said quietly.

You froze. “What do you mean?”

“I fucked up,” James said bluntly. “People are going to try and come after you.”

A shudder ran through you. You clenched your free hand into a fist, the cord cutting into your fingers. You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“I’m on my way to you,” he continued.

“What?! How?”

His low chuckle cuts straight through your fear. “You said you saw the news.”

“Oh,” you say stupidly. “Right.” James Barnes, Winter Soldier, assassin, Avenger. Of course he’d figured out where you were. Hell, he had your _phone_. No doubt the security on a normal iPhone was nothing to a guy like that. You ran your tongue along your lips as you thought of how sturdy he’d felt barreling into you.

Mm.

“So,” James said, cutting into your thoughts. “I should be there in a few hours. Can you keep to yourself til then?”

“No way! I’m not holing myself up in my hotel room on my spring break,” you said. “I’ll lay low, sure, but—”

“You do know your life is at risk, right?”

“I’m a woman. My life is _always_ at risk,” you snapped. “I know how to handle myself, okay?”

“You—” James cut himself off. “Listen. I obviously can’t tell you what to do, but I really don’t want your death on my conscience. Please be careful—” He broke off again.

Had he been about to say your name? You suspected so. The worry in his voice softened you. Maybe he wasn’t thinking of you specifically, but… well, it was nice to pretend. Despite the unflattering photo from the BBC, _you_ knew the man was gorgeous. Was it so bad to imagine he cared?

“Alright,” you murmured. “I’ll be careful.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

—

 

Bucky had flown across the globe countless times. To Australia, to Irkutsk, to Antarctica. From New York to Grand Cayman in one of Tony’s jets was less than four hours.

But on the other end was a woman with guts, with an inner fire and yet enough reason to listen to his advice, with fucking _lingerie photos_ on her phone. He shifted in his seat and stared down at the water below.

He’d never had a longer flight.

 

—

 

Three hours later, you were fuming. You couldn’t _believe_ you’d agreed to stay inside. Mira was out on the beach below, and every so often she’d wave up at the window. She’d made friends with a gaggle of bubbly undergrads that you could hear from the hotel. You were so fucking bored from sitting here watching sitcoms and drumming your fingers on the windowsill.

Mira had understood, of course, but still, you were beyond ready to take yourself and your new bathing suit into the water. You were already dressed for the beach—sultry bathing suit, a sheer white cover-up skating along your thighs, strappy sandals to save your feet from the burning sand. Your sunglasses and floppy hat were waiting on the rumpled bed.

Dammit, when the hell was James going to get here? He’d said a few hours, and it had already been three…

If you had to wait another whole hour, you were going to _scream_.

You wandered over to the hallway door and peered out of the eyehole. No one. The door was double-locked. Your hand hovered by the deadlock as curiosity teased your brain. Would a little peek hurt?

The elevator dinged in the hall, and your heart leapt into your throat. You pressed your eye back against the peephole and held your breath. Two men, dressed conspicuously in dark, thick clothes, wandered slowly down the hall towards your room. They passed your door, though one of them looked straight at the peephole with narrowed eyes.

You jerked away, heart pounding. They were scoping the place out! They knew where you were!

Mira had left her phone with you in anticipation of James’ next call. You typed in the passcode with shaking fingers and locked yourself in the bathroom, hoping the strange men wouldn’t be able to hear you from the hallway. You dialed your phone number. Every ring went on forever.

Finally, James picked up.

“I’m almost there. What’s wrong?” he said without preamble.

“Oh thank god,” you whispered. You pressed a hand to your thudding heart. The edge had already come off at the sound of his soft baritone. “I think someone knows my room. Well, there’s two of them—white men, heavy clothes. Not vacationers. They were going down my hallway, but they looked right at my room…”

“Well, keep the door locked,” James said. “I assume it’s locked.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yrs. It’s double-locked. Should I stuff a chair under the doorknob too?” you asked sarcastically.

“Might as well,” he said. There was a touch of humor in his voice. “No harm in being thorough.”

A little giggle burst out of you, and you stuffed your knuckles in your mouth to stifle yourself. “Whatever you say, Sergeant Barnes,” you teased, voice low.

His breath hitched, and a sudden flush spread across your face and down your neck. Did you _really_ just say that?

Oops.

“Right,” he said, voice slightly strangled. “Well, I’ll be there in five. Don’t get killed before then.” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Put the chair under the doorknob. I’ll call when I’m there.”

He hung up. You cradled the phone to your ear, longing to hear his voice again.

Five minutes.

For James Barnes, you could wait that long.

 

—

 

Bucky’s disguise was good. He looked like a buff hipster. Round sunglasses, a v-neck white tee, fitted jeans with more stretch than their appearance let on, and his customary black boots rounded it all out. The backpack was all straight lines, and far too small for a reasonable amount of stuff. He’d had to leave most of his favorite guns behind. Still, he had a few knives tucked away, not to mention the pistols in easy reach.

Then there was the holographic cover for his left arm, though Tony, the bastard, had given it a tattoo that Bucky never would have considered. Watercolor flowers and vines crawled up from the pretend wrist right up to his shoulder. Bucky didn’t even know if his real skin would _hold_ a tattoo, what with the advanced healing. Would his body just flush the ink away?

He wasn’t particularly interested in finding out.

Did _she_ like tattoos?

Bucky shook his head as he climbed out of the rental car and squinted up at the swanky hotel. He whistled under his breath. Damn, this was almost as fancy as the sort of places Tony liked. No doubt the rooms all had nice, big beds…

“Enough,” he muttered to himself.

He eased his way through the milling tourists and headed straight past reception. No one questioned him. He looked like he belonged. He made sure of it.

Bucky bypassed the elevators for the sweeping staircase and climbed up two steps at a time. Her room was on the second floor, down the western corridor. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the two men she’d described loitering halfway down the hall. He ducked down a side hallway before they noticed him, heart hammering in his chest.

It was one thing to give her advice over the phone. Seeing two men at her door, men he recognized from his Irkutsk Oblast mission?

This was something else entirely.

He knew almost nothing about her, but what he did know—and what he’d seen—painted a picture he wasn’t likely to soon forget. If something happened to her, with him so damn close…

No.

Bucky whipped off the sunglasses and hooked them in his collar. He slid a semi-automatic pistol out of his belt and let out a slow breath as he turned off the safety. He let the memory of her face flicker in his mind one last time before he pushed it aside, saving it for later.

A bang echoed down the hallway.

Bucky ran silently down the hall. Neither man had noticed him yet. They were clambering inside the room, forty feet away, now twenty, and then the taller one glanced over.

His eyes widened comically.

Bucky fired at the man’s kneecaps in rapid succession. He collapsed with a howl, curling up into a fetal position. The other leapt inside the room with a grunt. Bucky covered the last few meters and skidded to a stop by the bust-open door, eyes wide and gun at the ready.

 

—

 

The lamp shattered against the shorter goon’s head just as he jumped to his feet.

He wavered in place. You scampered back breathlessly, snatching up James’ phone and scanning the room for another weapon.

Then the goon collapsed face-down at your feet. You sagged in relief, and then you realized someone else was there.

In the open doorway, behind the knocked-over chair and through the open door, stood James. His eyes were wide as he took you in. You stared back at him, lips parted in surprise. He looked totally different than the last time you’d seen him. He looked… suspiciously like a hipster.

Your lips twitched. You slapped your free hand over your mouth before you burst out laughing. This— _this_ was James Barnes, Winter Soldier?

No way.

James’s lips twitched.

“Well, nice to see you too,” he said, smiling. He turned to grab the man from the hallway, giving you a perfect view of his ass in those tight pants. You swallowed as he dragged the whimpering man in.

“You’re getting blood on the carpets,” you told him.

“Eh, we’ll leave a big tip.”

The whimpering man wriggled against James’ hold. James tossed him against the wall and shut the splintered door, double-locking it and setting the chair back under the doorknob.

As his back was turned, the still-conscious goon started reaching in his belt. You rolled your eyes.

“Ahem,” you said.

James turned and placed a well-aimed kick to the man’s busted knee. “Try that again and you’ll wind up dead,” he warned. His low growl sent an involuntary shudder through you that—thank god—he didn’t seem to notice. He dragged the unconscious man, the one you’d so excellently knocked out, beside him.

“Want something to tie them up with?” you asked.

James lit on you with such a bright grin your heart skipped a beat. Hipster disguise or not, the man was _gorgeous_.

“So thoughtful, too,” he murmured. “Thanks, doll.”

A blush rose to your cheeks as you grabbed Mira’s charge cord and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly and tied the goons’ hands together between their backs.

James stood back and crossed his arms as he looked down at the two men on the carpet. “Nice to see you two again,” he said, conversationally. “What brings you here, Yudin?”

The tall one, Yudin, spat at James, who tutted and shook his head. In a flash, his left hand was at Yudin’s throat, stretching his neck uncomfortably high.

You blink, confusion racketing through you as you stare at the pale skin and the watercolor tattoo of James’ left arm. Doesn’t the Winter Soldier have a metal arm? Is the whole thing fake? Did he get a new arm?

“Talk,” James growled.

“Your—phone,” Yudin croaked. “They thought—”

“ _Who?_ ”

“Общество змей,” Yudin gasped. He wriggled in James’ grip. James threw him back to the floor.

“Спасибо.” He kicked Yudin on the side of the head; the Russian collapsed in a silent heap.

At last, James turned back to you. His sculpted face was lined with concern, and you realized belatedly that your hands were shaking slightly. You laughed nervously and clutched James’ phone tighter.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes on your face.

“Well, they’re the ones tied up and unconscious, so yes, I think I am.” You let out a slow breath and sat heavily on the bed, James’ phone tucked between your legs. “Thank you, James. You came just in time.”

“Almost too late,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, gave the goons a last look-over, and came to stand in front of you. You gazed up at him, heart racing, as he studied you. He reached a hand out, but it fell back before it touched your face. “They didn’t get to you?”

“No,” you said. You swallowed. He was so close you could practically feel his body heat. Your eyes darted along his body, from the possibly fake tattoo to his thick chest and the pulse point at his neck. Warmth tickled at you, from your face to your neck and down your body. “They didn’t get to me.”

_You did, though._

James bit his lip, his eyes as hungry as you felt. Only now did you realize how exposed you really were. There he was, pistol tucked into his belt, fully dressed, while you were in a flimsy cover-up and a bathing suit that showed all too much.

From the look in his eyes, you wondered if to him, it showed all too _little_.

A fresh wave of heat flooded your face, and you finally looked away. Meekly, you held out his phone.

“Huh? Oh.”

James took his phone from your hands, the brief brush of your fingers electric. Did he feel it? You couldn’t tell. You were afraid to look, afraid that all the feelings swirling inside you were affecting you alone.

But James put a finger under your chin and tilted your face up. His eyes were bright, a flush high in his cheeks. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“It was worth it,” he murmured.

Your eyes widened, but before you could speak he ducked to press his lips to yours.

Roaring filled your ears as you gasped into James’ kiss. His hand slid around the back of your neck, hot and heavy against your skin. His lips were like fire. You grabbed hold of his shirt, desperate for purchase. You fell back, legs still dangling off the bed, and tugged James down with you. He grunted, caught himself on his other hand, but he didn’t let go of you and he definitely didn’t stop kissing you. He ran his tongue along your lips, prompting a moan. Only then did he pull away.

If his eyes had been bright before, they were smoldering now. You swallowed and pressed your hands against the broad planes of his chest.

“Totally worth it,” you agreed breathlessly.

James’ answering grin was brighter than the sun. You traced the shape of his mouth with your eyes, committing it to memory, but then he was kissing you again, and you realized there was no way you could ever forget the feel of his mouth on yours.

When you broke the kiss, desperate for air, he hovered with his mouth a hair’s breadth from yours. You lay dizzy beneath him, one hand trailing along his torso while the other tucked his hair behind his ear.

“I thought you seemed a little desperate for your phone back,” you murmured.

He dropped his head against your shoulder and chuckled. “Yeah…” He rolled to lie on his side next to you, one hand propping his head up as the other reached into his back pocket. “Here. I’ve got yours, fully charged.”

You squealed happily and grabbed your phone. Lots of unread texts, but it still had the Monet lockscreen, and it opened under your thumbprint without question.

“Oh, thank you so much, James!” You kissed him again, brief but happy.

“Call me Bucky?” he asked.

You glanced at him, still smiling. “Alright. Bucky.” Then you remembered what you’d said not even fifteen minutes before. A coy smirk grew on your face. You blinked innocently up at him, one finger tapping your chin. “Are you sure you don’t prefer Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky positively _growled_. He grabbed you by the waist and dragged you up the bed, eyes burning as he settled on his hands and knees over you. Every last ounce of air left your lungs as he dipped his head to suck a mark against your collarbone. By the time he pulled away, you were putty in his hands.

“Doll,” he said, voice thick and his eyes carrying a world of meaning, “you are about to find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> According to Google, the Russian translates to "Serpent Society" (which is a canon Marvel evil organization) and "Thanks."
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think :D


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